by Lily Velez
“Home,” he breathed, taking my hand and squeezing it. “I think that sounds just perfect.”
Days later, I found myself at Crowmarsh on an overcast Saturday afternoon. The hospital had finally greenlighted my dad’s discharge, and though I wished nothing more than to stay home with him on his first day back, today was an important day for the Connellys, and I couldn’t bear to miss it.
I trekked across Crowmarsh’s family cemetery, a bouquet of asphodel flowers in hand, their sweet fragrance filling every breath I inhaled. All around me, the trees sang out in a gentle clatter as the cool autumn breeze combed through their canopies, leaves of gold and orange and red fluttering everywhere. Those that already carpeted the earth crunched under my ankle boots as I furthered along.
I reached Neala and Bree’s headstones and paused. We’d never know what would’ve happened had Seamus succeeded with the Reaping, whether or not he would’ve really been able to bring them back as their true selves and not as the grotesque things from Celeste’s story. I decided perhaps they were glad for that, though. They were no doubt at peace in the Land of Youth, now joined by Maurice and many others.
I supposed that was the way of it for everyone. The dead at rest had already found their peace. It was the living who struggled with their absence. I wasn’t so different. So preoccupied with what I’d lost back in Colorado, I’d forgotten what I’d gained here in Rosalyn Bay: a father who’d taken me in without question and who loved me. Yes, it would take time for my heart to heal, but while the ache of my mom’s passing would always be with me, I knew she would want me to let go of the past, to begin a new chapter and a new life. For the first time since arriving in Ireland, I thought maybe that wasn’t so impossible after all.
I pulled out two flowers from my bouquet and placed one on Neala’s tomb and the second on Bree’s. Then I continued on my way. I found the Connellys right where they said they’d be, waiting underneath the feathery gold leaves of a weeping willow, the tree so breathtaking in its loveliness I could hardly believe it was real at all.
“Scarlet Ibis,” Lucas greeted, strolling over to me with a deck of cards in one hand and giving my hair an affectionate tug. “You look deadly, love.” That usual glint of mischief had returned to his eyes—minus the red flecks thankfully. We’d all watched him closely these past days, and all signs pointed toward him finally being free and clear of the demon venom. It was an enormous relief, as was the trademark click of his playing cards as he presently sprung them from hand to hand.
I blushed at his compliment but smiled. “I hope you all haven’t been waiting long.” Every last one of them donned a black suit and tie, and though I’d seen them in their St. Andrew’s blazers on a handful of occasions, I still couldn’t get over how impossibly beautiful they were, their faces so otherworldly at times.
“You’re just in time,” Jack said.
I joined the rest of them before the shiny marble headstone. It was the one they’d commissioned for Maurice’s resting place. It had arrived yesterday, allowing them to finally mark his grave. For the next hour, we stood vigil and memorialized Maurice Connelly, the boys sharing their fondest stories and memories of their grandfather. Though I had no anecdotes of my own, I was happy to be here with them, to be included in this intimate moment.
When Jack encouraged me to say some words, I rested the asphodel flowers upon Maurice’s grave. “Though I never met Maurice when he was alive,” I said, “he came to life for me whenever Jack spoke of him, if only because I could feel Jack’s immense love and respect for him. I know Maurice would be proud that he lives on through his grandsons. He clearly cared for all of you very much. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past months, it’s that love like that never dies. We carry it with us wherever we go. Always.”
After the memorial service, I drifted off with the others to give Jack space as he remained at Maurice’s grave. Lucas offered to wayfare me back to Rosalyn Bay so I wouldn’t have to take a taxi again, but I decided to stay a little bit longer, worried as I was for Jack. At one point, I saw him produce his new cell phone from his pocket and press it against his ear. I had no doubt he was listening to those old voicemails from Maurice, and the sight bruised my heart.
“He’ll need some time.” Connor sidled up beside me at the tree I was taking cover behind. He looked particularly sharp with the addition of his glasses, his blond hair smoothed back. The scowl that had so regularly adorned his face when we were first getting to know each other, however, was no longer present.
I turned toward him, smoothing out the skirt of my black dress, grateful for the warmth of my cable-knit tights. Even with a pea-coat on, November’s chill still had a way of burrowing deep into my bones. “How has he been?” I asked. “Have you spoken with him about…?”
“He hasn’t been very forthcoming about the dark magic, no. Jack’s thinking is ‘what’s done is done, so what’s the point in belaboring the issue?’ Asking for help—especially from us—has never been his strong suit.”
I wanted to remind him that Jack probably only felt he was protecting his brothers by hiding that aspect of himself, but Connor certainly already knew that. It’s what Jack always did. “Do you think it’s come to that? Him needing help, I mean. He isn’t still practicing dark magic even now, is he?” After all, there was no reason to. Maurice’s soul was at rest. Thinking on it, I briefly wondered if the Connelly patriarch knew about the lengths Jack had gone to for his sake. Most likely not. He would’ve made mention of it at Uisneach, would’ve insisted Jack break away from such darkness.
Connor pocketed his hands and cast a long look at Jack, as if he could determine the answer by doing so. He shook his head. “He says he isn’t still practicing.”
“But you don’t believe him.”
Connor frowned. I thought my question had irked him. Then I realized it was his answer that did. “I don’t. The essence of his magic is still blue the way it should be. A Reaper’s magic would be red, as you probably saw at Uisneach, and when you’re as far gone as Seamus was, your magic will be as black as night. But something still just keeps needling me about it all. Between you and me, I have half a mind to discover the truth for myself.”
I was about to ask how, but I stopped myself. Of course. Connor’s Mastery. The fact that he hadn’t already used his magic on Jack was an exercise in self-control. Perhaps brotherly love too. He respected Jack too much to invade his privacy. But if doing so was the only way to help Jack, then so be it. We could only hope there wasn’t a block in Jack’s mind like the one that had been in Alison’s, safeguarding his secrets. Although I supposed we could always fall back on another transference spell, provided there was a way to actually pick the memories we landed in.
“Let me know what you find out,” I said. The guilt in going behind Jack’s back was overwhelming, as was the fear of what we’d learn. But I’d seen what dark magic could do to a person, how it’d turned Seamus against his own blood. I didn’t want Jack to lose himself to that kind of darkness.
He nodded once. “I will.”
“On that note, is everything still all right as far as Seamus being contained in The Citadel?”
“Think of it as the Alcatraz of the magical world, except no one’s ever escaped. Trust me, he’s not going anywhere any time soon. And as far as those who were lost over the course of this ordeal, the clans still believe the sluagh were acting of their own volition. Seamus only got so far as telling The Council alone his lie about the hunters being involved.”
My shoulders relaxed. Ever since Samhain, my nights had been restless, my mind plagued with nightmares of Seamus stealing the souls of people I loved and performing the Reaping once again with me being powerless to stop it. Knowing he didn’t have the slightest chance of escaping The Citadel eased a great deal of anxiety. And knowing Jack didn’t have to worry about the clans coming for his uncle lifted a weight as well, even if I was still conflicted over Seamus’s temporary reprieve.
“W
hat about your mom? Has there been any progress?” Alison Connelly still hadn’t awoken from her mysterious, magical sleep. Stranger still, she’d aged considerably, so that a complete stranger would’ve assumed she was an elderly woman in her final years.
Connor exhaled a long breath. “Her state must somehow be related to the curse, or a side effect of coming out of it against the original caster’s wishes, but I don’t know where to begin in undoing her condition. We recovered The Book of Fates from Seamus, but I haven’t found anything in there that might help.”
A breeze passed and more autumn leaves showered down upon us. I plucked one from my shoulder, pinching its stem and spinning it back and forth as I thought about Alison surrounded by those Wraiths. I could only hope they didn’t continue to haunt her as she slept.
“How’s your father, by the way? He still doesn’t remember anything?”
My stomach sank slightly. “I don’t know what to do. Should I tell him the truth? Not just about the Reaping but about us being witches as well?”
“I’m not sure,” Connor said. “Truthfully, it may be best to wait for the time being and give him a chance to gather his bearings. But we’ll figure it out in time.”
We. Because I was no longer apart from them, a stranger on the outside looking in. We were in this together. They were my friends, and I was theirs.
50
“There’s still so much I have to learn about magic.”
It had been a week since Maurice Connelly’s memorial service, and Jack and I stood at the top of the lighthouse where we’d recovered the Hallowstone, our cheeks reddening against the biting winds. Incredibly, people were surfing in spite of the chill, Liam among them. I watched him ride a colossal wave and couldn’t help but smile a little.
I’d returned to St. Andrew’s earlier this week, though not with my dad unfortunately, who would be out for the rest of the term. And though Liam and I hadn’t known each other very long, he’d once again been so kind and thoughtful, asking if I was okay, if there was anything my dad needed, and to let him know if I ever wanted to take my mind off the matter.
“I could teach you to surf,” he’d offered.
I’d laughed softly. “How about I just cheer you on from the sidelines?” Not for the first time, I’d fought the urge to divulge everything to him about what I’d been through with the Connellys, feeling like I might burst at the seams if I kept the secrets any longer. I hadn’t told Natalie either, despite the fact I had a new phone now and made it a point to never miss our catch-up dates.
I wasn’t sure what held me back. Maybe I was still processing it all. How exactly did you tell your friends that a Celtic goddess had selected you to wage war against a wayward witch and his merry band of demons? I ran my fingers down the inside of one arm, missing the glow of Brigid’s runes, though I could still feel their energy pulsing under my skin. For the time being, the Hallowstone was at Crowmarsh, where I thought it’d be safer among the boys’ grimoires and other magical objects.
“You’ll learn everything you need to know in time,” Jack assured me. “Taking it slowly day by day like we’ve been doing is the best course of action. That way, you don’t overexert yourself.”
We were still working on my ability to call upon the four Quarters. Without holding the Hallowstone or channeling Jack, it didn’t come as quickly or as easily to me yet as it did for the boys, but I was making progress. Somewhat. “Have you been able to learn anything about The Lost Clan from the book Maurice gave you?”
Jack stared at the spread of ocean, its choppy waters as gray as steel. In a rare cameo, the setting sun had broken free of the clouds that normally cloaked it, and the sky glowed softly like a paper lantern. The shadows from Jack’s lashes striped his cheeks, accenting the patches still under his eyes. They’d faded in intensity these past days, leading me to hope it meant he’d put the dark magic behind him, but there was obviously no way to know for sure.
“Unfortunately not,” he said, “nor does the story he referred to shed very much light on the matter. I may have to go Elsewhere to study the books in The Council’s library for myself. There have to be clues somewhere. Of course, at the moment, we have a more pressing issue.”
I sighed, understanding him immediately. “The broken portal.” The one I’d blasted open, allowing the Otherworld’s damned to escape. It was another reason why I urgently wanted to master my magic. I clearly needed to learn how to control it.
“Our new guests haven’t made themselves known yet, but I can feel their presence almost everywhere I go in town. The people here aren’t safe until we send all those spirits back to where they came from.”
“Wonderful,” I said. It wasn’t exactly the first impression I’d wanted to make on the town.
“You can’t blame yourself,” Jack said. “You didn’t know the consequences. None of us did. But what you did, the power you exuded…it was incredible. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve properly thanked you yet.”
A wave crashed against the cliffs along the coast, seagulls gliding just above the white foam. The structure of the lighthouse moaned and creaked against the wind, and I gripped the observation deck’s railing tighter, praying it’d stay standing the way Father Nolan had said it would. “Of course you have,” I said. “What more could you possibly need to thank me for?”
The edge of his mouth quirked up in a rare, brief smile. “For saving my life for starters? And not even for the first time. Or the second. You’ve put me to massive shame, you know.”
I nudged him with a smile of my own. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” I teased.
Amusement glimmered in his eyes, but it faded almost as quickly as it’d come, his expression growing serious. “In all truth, we couldn’t have done any of this without you, Scarlet”
I’d heard my name in his mouth plenty of times since this whole journey had begun, but this time, there was something about the way he said it, something about the gentleness of his tone and the cadence of his accent, that made me shiver. We were standing so close, only inches apart, our breaths leaving us in soft plumes of white. In the distance, the bells on the fishing boats sang and the seabirds called out to each other in a rise and fall that seemed to match the way the ocean tide rushed forward only to retreat.
“You were the only one who could’ve stopped the Reaping,” he continued softly. “By means I could’ve never imagined, you ultimately did lead the way for us, just as it’d been predicted you would.”
A gust of wind blew a strand of hair across my face. Without hesitation, Jack reached out and tenderly tucked it behind my ear, his fingers finding their way back to the scar on my cheek from Mary-Anne’s blade. It almost matched the one on the inside of my palm from the Hallowstone ritual. My battle scars, I supposed.
Where his fingertips touched my skin, it felt like points of fire on my face, even more so as he cupped my face, smoothing his thumb back and forth across my cheekbone as if he wished to erase my scar. Then his other hand joined the first, cradling my other cheekbone, and my pulse thudded against my neck in a quick staccato.
A moment later, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of my head, like a pilgrim kissing the marbled feet of a saint in a most holy temple. I could’ve had a fever and still my skin wouldn’t have been as flushed as it was in that moment. I closed my eyes, savoring his closeness, feeling as if I might altogether dissolve.
When he pulled back just slightly, he smiled softly at me in a way that was starting to become familiar. Without thinking, I closed the remaining distance between us, looping my arms around his middle and pressing the side of my face against his solid chest. Almost immediately, his arms closed in around me, and I relaxed against him, wanting to melt into him. I breathed him in and was reminded of ancient trees and timeless magic.
“Could you have ever imagined,” he asked, tightening his arms around me, “what you’d eventually learn about yourself once you arrived in Ireland?”
“Not in a
million years,” I answered as I looked out at the ocean. “Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I realize I truly don’t know who or what I really am.”
“I do,” he said softly, speaking into my hair in a way that made my stomach pull. “You’re a warrior, Scarlet. A fearless, strong, and tenacious warrior. And on the days when you doubt it, just come to me, be it day or night. And I’ll be here to remind you of exactly who you are.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon perched atop the lighthouse, watching the tides and the miniature townspeople below until the setting sun finally pulled a swath of brilliant colors across the sky, setting the ocean on fire so that it blazed in beautiful shades of orange, red, and gold.
The following afternoon, after running errands in town, I found the day’s paper on the frayed welcome mat of my dad’s house, beads of rain water clinging to its plastic sleeve. I grabbed it and pushed through the front door to the warmth inside, depositing the paper on a growing pile of its siblings, all left unopened by my dad. I had to pause a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness inside. It had been like this since my dad’s return, all the blinds on every window drawn tight, reducing the house to nothing more than a shadowy cave. Bright lights exacerbated the migraines from which he’d begun to suffer.
I set the tote bag of groceries I’d purchased in town on the kitchen counter, wrinkling my nose against the stale air. Hadn’t I left the windows open before leaving? I opened a few now and then followed the sounds of the TV into the living room, where I found my dad seated before another relay of news. Footage of a mudslide and shelters overflowing with misplaced people filled the screen.
“Dad?” He made no response, so I slowly moved around the recliner. “Dad?”
He blinked a few times before looking up at me, as if I’d startled him out of a nap. His face was even more aged than it’d been in the hospital. I tried to tell myself it was only because he hadn’t shaved once since being discharged, that the unkempt hair made him seem more worn down than he actually was.